On
The Verge
linger
there
on
the verge of
hysteria
&
imagine this
scene
renowned
playwright
takes
refuge
in his hotel
room
lights up a
cigarette
& pours
himself
a drink
of wine
lays
back
&
considers
a
barbiturate
binge
drunkenly
agreeable
he intends
to
throw
back
a
generous
handful
measured
out
in
the
overcap
of
an
eye-drop
bottle
swallowed
them
all
one
careless gulp
pills
overcap
asphyxia
cold
self-contempt
expires
reassurance
required
no
more
a last act of
torment
***
I didn’t know anything about how
Tennessee Williams died until last night when watching an old re-run of an
Anthony Bourdain show. He quipped at one point that Williams choked on a bottle
cap and died. It stuck with me and so I poked around the internet a bit looking
for clues. And, because I did, a poem.
There are of course conflicting reports
about the cause of death and whether or not it was accidental or intentional.
Some speculate they used the bottle cap story to preserve his reputation. I don’t
think it would much matter given the brave work he put into our world, rich
characters of the lost, sensitive, defeated, deviant, peculiar, and invisible.
His stories stand the test of time, my dinky poem likely not so much.
Oh, it’s Friday! I’m in the homestretch
of a work day and looking forward to loud music tomorrow night with my best
bud. But, until then, I’ll work until the supper bell rings and carry on home
with my nose tucked in my book until I’m home with my cat and can unwind.
In propinquity,
Nic
